The Way of the Towel: Greatness, Redefined by Jesus

by Bart Denny

Central text: John 13:12–17 (NIV)

Over the years, in church settings, I’ve done a lot of dishes. I’ve raked a lot of leaves. I’ve painted plenty of church walls. I’ve plunged more than a few clogged toilets. I don’t mind getting my hands dirty.

But if I’m honest, at this age, with this many years in church, there’s a part of me that wants to say, “I’ve done my time.”

I don’t usually say it out loud. I dress it up. I call it wisdom. Focus. Stewarding my time well. But the feeling sneaks up on me. It shows up when another need pops up. When the same few people carry the same load. When I feel tired. It shows up when I think, “Shouldn’t somebody else take a turn now?”

And I’ll confess something else: I don’t mind serving. I just want to choose the terms.

And if I’m not careful, I start thinking and acting like the low places belong to somebody else.

Now let me be even more honest: I don’t struggle with getting my hands dirty. I struggle to keep my ego in check. The hard part isn’t the work. The hard part is the humility.

Because sometimes serving doesn’t just cost time. It costs pride.

I can sling a mop and still feel competent. (After all, I was in the Navy, and they don’t call Sailors “swabees” for nothing.) I can pound a few nails and still feel productive. I can do some pressure washing and feel like I checked a box.

But when service turns personal, when it moves into relationships, when it requires humility, confession, apology—when it requires patience, forgiveness, and choosing the lower place—that’s where I feel the pull. That’s where my heart starts negotiating.

Because I don’t just want to be helpful. I want to be respected. I don’t just want to contribute. I want to feel significant. I don’t just want to serve. I want to serve in ways that match my gift set and my preferences.

And the longer you follow Jesus, the easier it becomes to drift into this quiet mindset: “Let somebody else do it. I’ve put in my time.”

That’s exactly why the Upper Room confronts me. Jesus doesn’t just teach servant leadership as a concept. He embodies it. And He commands those who follow Him to do the same.

We live in a world that trains us to chase greatness upward, while Jesus keeps calling us downward. We breathe an obsession with power: who’s in charge, who gets the last word, who wins, who looks strong, who looks weak. And that instinct doesn’t stay “out there.” It follows us home. It shows up at work, in marriages, in conflict, in what we say when we feel overlooked, in how we react when we don’t feel respected.

Most of us don’t wake up and say, “I want to be prideful today.” But pressure hits, and we reach for control. For leverage. For whatever helps us feel safe and strong.

And if we’re honest, we can bring that same instinct into the church. We can serve and still keep score. We can obey as long as it fits our preferences. We can follow Jesus—until He asks us to take the lower place with someone who hurt us, someone who irritates us, or someone who never seems to notice our effort.

So here’s the question we all have to answer, not in theory but in real life:

What if Jesus defines greatness in a way that feels backward to us? What if the most powerful person in the room chooses the lowest place on purpose? What if the way up in God’s kingdom actually runs through a towel?

That’s where John 13:12–17 takes us, as we see first that…

Greatness starts with understanding.

(John 13:12–13)

Jesus has already washed the disciples’ feet. Now He stands up, puts His outer clothing back on, and returns to His place at the table. He doesn’t leave the foot washing to stand on its own as a dramatic moment. He turns it into a lesson.

He asks, “Do you understand what I have done for you?” (John 13:12, NIV). He doesn’t ask, “Did you see it?” They did. He asks, “Do you get it?” Do you understand what it means? The disciples can describe what Jesus did, but they don’t yet grasp why He did it.

Then Jesus says something just as direct: “You call me ‘Teacher’ and ‘Lord,’ and rightly so, for that is what I am.” (John 13:13, NIV). Jesus doesn’t dodge those titles. He owns them. Teacher and Lord. This isn’t humility born of insecurity. This is humility that comes from authority.

Here’s the key: the towel shocks the room because the One holding it is Teacher and Lord. If we misunderstand who Jesus is, we’ll misunderstand what greatness is. We’ll hear “serve” like it’s a helpful suggestion—nice if you can, optional if you can’t. Or we’ll turn serving into a religious performance—something we do to look humble instead of something that comes from actual humility.

Jesus ties the meaning of the towel to His identity. He’s not just “a good man” setting a nice example. He’s the Lord showing us what real greatness looks like. And He starts with understanding because we can copy an action and still miss the point. Jesus wants more than towel-shaped actions. He wants towel-shaped hearts.

Picture a patient in a hospital room late at night. The lights stay low. Machines keep beeping. The room feels too quiet, and the worry feels too loud. The patient feels uncomfortable, embarrassed, and afraid.

Then someone walks in—no speech, no spotlight—and starts basic care. They straighten sheets, adjust the pillow, clean up a mess, handle something nobody wants to touch, and treat that patient with dignity. The patient assumes, “Well… that’s just what people here do.”

Later, the patient finds out who it was. Not someone “low” on the ladder, but the hospital president themselves. Someone with real authority. And suddenly the patient replays the moment and thinks, “Wait… they did that? They didn’t have to do that.” The action didn’t change. The identity changed the meaning.

That’s John 13. When the person with the highest authority takes the lowest place, you realize you’ve been defining greatness all wrong.

Greatness starts with understanding, and more than that...

Greatness looks like serving.

(John 13:14–15)

Jesus doesn’t just explain the towel. He puts it in their hands.

“Now that I, your Lord and Teacher, have washed your feet, you also should wash one another’s feet.” (John 13:14, NIV). He ties His command directly to His identity. Lord and Teacher. The One with all authority sets the pattern.

Then He makes it even clearer: “I have set you an example that you should do as I have done for you.” (John 13:15, NIV). Jesus doesn’t just provide inspiration. He gives an expectation.

This flips greatness upside down.

The world says greatness means you rise above the low stuff. Greatness means you get served. Greatness means you delegate the dirty work. Jesus says, “No. In My kingdom, greatness carries a towel.”

And notice what Jesus doesn’t do. He doesn’t shame them with, “You guys should’ve done it first.” He could’ve said that. He would’ve been right. Instead, He leads from below. He uses His authority to serve rather than to demand service.

Luke gives us a detail that makes this even sharper. In the Upper Room, “a dispute also arose among them as to which of them was considered to be greatest” (Luke 22:24, NIV). Then Jesus says the greatest should be like the youngest, and the one who rules like the one who serves—because “I am among you as one who serves” (Luke 22:26–27, NIV).

And the rest of the New Testament keeps pushing that same pattern into the life of the church: “Serve one another humbly in love” (Galatians 5:13, NIV). “Carry each other’s burdens” (Galatians 6:2, NIV). “Submit to one another out of reverence for Christ” (Ephesians 5:21, NIV). “In humility value others above yourselves” (Philippians 2:3–4, NIV). Christ “suffered for you, leaving you an example, that you should follow in his steps” (1 Peter 2:21, NIV).

That’s towel language. That’s choosing the lower place, not because you lack strength, but because you follow Jesus.

I saw something like that on a mission trip to Louisiana in 2016 after historic flooding. After a catastrophe like that, you can tell a lot about leadership quickly. The water goes down, and what’s left behind doesn’t look like a Hallmark movie—and it doesn’t smell like one either.

In moments like that, you almost always see two kinds of leaders. One kind shows up, looks around, points, talks, takes pictures, and moves on. They stay clean. They stay above it. The other kind shows up in old jeans, work boots, and gloves. They grab a shovel. They haul soaked furniture. They tear out heavy carpet. They carry the mess. They sweat. They serve. And everybody watching thinks, “That’s the kind of leader I’ll follow.”

That’s what Jesus does in the Upper Room. He doesn’t redefine greatness with a speech. He redefines greatness with a towel.

So, if greatness starts with understanding and looks like serving, then...

Greatness becomes real in doing.

(John 13:16–17)

Jesus doesn’t end with the example. He presses the lesson into our way of thinking.

“No servant is greater than his master, nor is a messenger greater than the one who sent him.” (John 13:16, NIV). In other words, if the Master serves, the servant serves too.

Then Jesus lands the whole thing with a promise: “Now that you know these things, you will be blessed if you do them.” (John 13:17, NIV).

We all recognize the gap. We can know and still not do. We can nod our heads, say “amen,” and still keep our hands clean. We can admire the towel and still refuse to pick it up. So Jesus makes it clear: blessing isn’t connected merely to understanding. Blessing connects to obedience.

This is where Jesus won’t let us stay comfortable. He puts His finger right on it. Because we love knowing, learning, hearing, agreeing. We can sit through a sermon and think, “That’s right… amen.” And still walk out and live the same way. Jesus won’t let that happen in the Upper Room.

James says it plainly: “Do not merely listen to the word… Do what it says.” (James 1:22, NIV). Jesus says, “Blessed rather are those who hear the word of God and obey it.” (Luke 11:28, NIV). And John writes, “Let us not love with words or speech but with actions and in truth.” (1 John 3:18, NIV). Love shows up in concrete obedience.

And here’s an image that sticks with me.

Ever walk into a gym in January... you know, when all the New Year's Resolutions show up? New shoes. New water bottle. Workout plan on the phone. Somebody watches videos on squats and deadlifts, nodding like, “Yep… that’s it.” Then they walk over to the rack, put their hands on the bar, and hesitate. Knowing the form isn’t the same as feeling the weight. Your body won’t change until you actually lift.

Same with cooking. You can scroll through Pinterest, looking at recipes for an hour. You can imagine the taste. But nobody eats a Pinterest board. Dinner happens when somebody turns on the stove and makes the meal.

That’s what Jesus presses in verse 17. Knowledge matters. Understanding matters. But greatness becomes real in doing.

Living in Greatness, Redefined by Jesus

Real life doesn’t feel like an Upper Room. Real life feels like a kitchen piled full of dirty dishes after dinner. A schedule that doesn’t slow down. A relationship that stays tense. A coworker who keeps taking. A family member who never says thank you. And that’s exactly where “the way of the towel” becomes real—or it stays a nice sermon.

So, let’s name the question Jesus presses: do we only serve when it fits our strengths, or do we serve when love requires it? Because the towel doesn’t always match our gift set. Sometimes the towel matches our pride.

So here’s what to do with this. Not just think about it. Not just agree with it. Do it.

Some of you already carry a lot of towels. If you’ve served faithfully, this isn’t a guilt trip. This is an invitation to let Jesus shape your instincts—whether you feel tired, ignored, or “done with it.”

Start here:

• Ask Jesus for one name. Not a category. One person. Because a towel always ends up in front of a person.
• Choose one towel act in the next seven days—something specific, something that costs you a little, something that probably won’t get applause.
• Take the lower place in one relationship. Maybe the towel looks like humility: “I was wrong.” “I’m sorry.” “Will you forgive me?” Listening instead of defending. Seeking peace instead of winning.
• Don’t wait for the perfect moment. Do it soon. Obedience grows legs when you take the first step.

And if you need a simple prayer for the week, pray this:

“Jesus, make my instincts like Yours. Show me the towel and help me pick it up.”

Note: This blog post is adapted from a sermon preached by Dr. Bart Denny at Pathway – A Wesleyan Church in Saranac, Michigan on March 1, 2026. You can watch the sermon (along with the full service) here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7xhi9EKBf28